


Regrets

by friendofspiderman



Series: Fictober 2020 [23]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Ben Parker Dies, Ficlet, Fictober, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, May Parker is an Amazing Mom, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pre-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Regret, Worried May Parker (Spider-Man)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27171539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendofspiderman/pseuds/friendofspiderman
Summary: Fictober Prompt #23 - "do we have to?"---In the aftermath of Ben's death, May and Peter talk about their regrets.
Relationships: Ben Parker & May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Ben Parker & Peter Parker, Ben Parker/May Parker (Spider-Man), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Series: Fictober 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953223
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	Regrets

It’s been three and a half months since Ben’s death, and some family friends are treating Peter and May to dinner on a Friday night. 

Peter’s been slumped into the corner of the couch ever since he came home from school when May sits on the other end, planning to remind him about the dinner engagement. But she can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not currently in a place to discuss social commitments.

“What’s going on, baby? How are you feeling?”

Peter is staring straight ahead, hands folded and forearms resting on his knees.

“Guilty.”

May exhales and rubs a hand across her forehead.

They’d had this conversation time and time again—Peter felt guilty about Ben’s death, he felt like it was his fault, he felt that if they hadn’t been fighting Ben wouldn’t have walked out of the apartment into the vicinity of a mugger. She didn’t want to sound like a broken record, but she had to let her nephew know, once again, that Ben’s death was not his doing. 

“Peter, it wasn’t—”

“No, it’s not—that’s not what I’m thinking about, May.” He looks at her. “I know I couldn’t have saved him. I just—I’m thinking about other things, now—about all the times I could have been better, I guess. When I said things I didn’t mean, or when I didn’t say something I should have, you know?”

May does know. She’s also navigating immeasurable guilt for all of the times she and Ben had argued, the times she wasn’t there for him, the times she hadn’t told him how much she loved him. 

But she doesn’t want Peter do dwell on those negative thoughts, not when he’s just recently pulled himself out of depressive grief in these past few weeks.

“I’m not sure it’s healthy to think about all of that, sweetheart. We can’t change the past.”

“But can we…can we acknowledge it?” His eyes look so broken—closer to being whole than they had three months ago, but broken nonetheless. May realizes in an instant that Peter needs to deal with these feelings head-on.

“Yes.” She says. “Yes, of course we can.” She scoots a little closer to him. “What regrets do you need to get off your chest?”

Peter laughs under his breath, and it sounds more like a hiccup as a few tears come to his eyes. “Do you remember when I said—when—when I told him I hated him?”

May does remember.

Peter was eight years old, and he’d become engrossed with a game on his PlayStation. He was determined to beat all of the levels before Ned. After he’d fallen woefully behind on his schoolwork and neglected to pick up his tornado of a room for an entire month, Ben had taken away the game and console until he caught up on his responsibilities.

Peter was furious, and, in a moment of anger, told Ben he hated him. May sent him to his room and Ben left the apartment to get some air, a bit shaken by the words his nephew had spouted for the first time.

Ben had been gone for all of two minutes when Peter emerged from his room a sobbing mess of guilt. He was desperate to make up with Ben and so inconsolable that May had to call her husband and demand he come back immediately.

When Ben returned, Peter apologized profusely through his tears, reciting “I don’t hate you, I love you” about a thousand times and clinging to Ben more tightly than he had since his parents’ death.

May, watching it all unfold, had known that their kid’s tender conscience would forever serve as both a blessing and a curse.

And now, Peter is watching for her reaction and waiting for her response, eyes wide with remorse for a small mistake he’d made six years earlier.

“I do remember.” She drapes an arm across his shoulders. “You were so horrified with yourself, I couldn’t calm you down until Ben came back.”

Peter nods. “Yeah. And I know it’s stupid, but I’ve regretted saying that every day since he died.”

“Oh, Peter—”

“I know, I know,” he wipes away a few tears and smiles at her, “I didn’t mean it, and he knew that, he _told_ me he knew that, and I know he forgave and forgot right away.” He sniffs. “But I still can’t stop thinking about it.” 

May rubs circles into his back, unsure of what to say but sure that she’d been wrong moments earlier—that acknowledging the negative thoughts and regrets swirling in their minds could be _healthy; necessary_.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You were only eight, and you’re absolutely right, he never held a grudge against you for anything, so you don’t have to feel bad, but—I know. I know memories are hard.”

He smiles weakly, but remains silent.

“My turn?” She asks.

He nods. “Go for it.”

She sighs before speaking. “I refused to train for that half-marathon with him last spring. I know he wasn’t terribly disappointed, and he wasn’t expecting me to do it since I’m not really the fitness type, but still. We would’ve spent so much time together training, you know?”

“Yeah. That sucks, May.”

She takes his hand in hers. “It really does.”

They sit like that for nearly an hour, exchanging regrets and guilt like they’re icebreakers at a company retreat for Sob-Story Central. They laugh and cry in equal measure, rehashing old memories they both share and revealing new memories that are unique to one of them or the other. It’s unexpectedly cathartic; one of the most freeing hours May’s had in weeks.

They pause only when May glances at the clock and realizes they’re minutes away from their dinner appointment.

“Oh, Peter! We’re going to be late, the Ferguson’s might already be waiting, let’s go—”

She tries to stand and walk to the door, but Peter hasn’t let go of her hand.

“Do we have to?” He asks, eyes softly pleading. She melts and sits back down.

“No, baby. No, we don’t. I can tell them we need to reschedule for another time, okay?”

He nods gratefully, and she stands to locate her phone and make the call.

Truth be told, May has been looking forward to this dinner all week. She needs some time with friends, needs the distraction from the heaviness that constantly threatens to overtake her entire soul. And today is a rare moment when she feels she can leave the apartment and live a semi-normal existence without the all-consuming grief tagging along.

But Peter is more important than all of that. And May isn’t about to force this dinner upon him, or let him sit in the apartment alone with his infinitely guilty conscience.

May throws a bag of popcorn in the microwave and puts on a Star Wars DVD, then drapes a blanket over her nephew. She joins him on the couch and thinks about what she _has_ in this moment, rather than what she’s missing.

She has Peter, and he needs her. 

This night will _not_ be added to her list of regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3


End file.
